Love Potion Number Nein
by A Damned Scientist
Summary: Post Nearly-Apocalypse at Quajaga, John tries to organise a romantic break for him and Aeryn. Luxury hotel suite? Check. Chocolates? Check. Flower shop? Check. Furlow, Grayza and a scary, malevolent critter? Check...


**Love Potion Number Nein (PG-13)**

Love Potion # 9, the challenge: The main character has to become infatuated with a character to which they are not normally romantically linked. How the infatuation occurs is entirely up to your own devising. The characters do not have to end up together. Also in the spirit of Valentine's Day, the story must include a flower shop and a box of chocolates.

Settings, warnings and spoilers: About a monen post PKW. Some mildly suggestive smuttiness. A character death or two that no one will likely mourn for.

Unlike my last work, this is comedy and, dare I say it bearing in mind the challenge, very J/A shippy. Apologies to K'Lara for impugning the hotel trade at one point.

Thanks: To Vinegardog for the beta reading.

Disclaimer: Not mine. (Sobs. Cant I at least keep Furlow?)

Words: 2612

**Love Potion Number Nein (PG-13)**

"Y'know I really hate to have ta do this to ya," Furlow sighed, lining up the home-made catheter so it could be plunged into the chest of her prisoner. "But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do." Her captive stared back at her, immobilized both by terror and by the robust and functional restraints securing her to the heavy wooden table. "That's my motto..." Furlow continued, widening her eyes with satisfaction and giving her head a slight roll.

This ingredient would be the last thing Furlow needed to start putting her plan into effect. Last week she had obtained vials of a rare genetic modification treatment from a merchant on a dead leviathan which would enable her to disguise herself. Now she had her hands on the raw ingredient to bend her soon-to-be business-and-bed partner to her will. She flashed an almost apologetic, almost sad smile at the spread-eagled, terrified former Commandant Grayza before smacking the rusty needle home into Mele-On's Heppel oil gland.

"That should do the trick!" Furlow remarked to herself in satisfaction as the opaque oil drained down along a length of thin, clear tube and began to drip out into a waiting vial. "Just what the diagnosan ordered! Ya know, the last eight formulations didn't work, but I reckon as this should be the ingredient that makes all the difference! Sorry ya won't be there to see it!" Furlow continued to ramble on in a happy sing-song, grinning as she paused to take an indulgent whiff of the heady liquid.

Grayza, however, did not reply. As the last of her life drained away into Furlow's vials she could no longer hear anything at all.

'~'

It had taken John Crichton three weekens to organise a post-almost-apocalypse romantic break with Aeryn. First there had been the not insignificant matter of finding somewhere they could go without an unacceptable risk of being recognized. Somewhere that they could spend a few quiet days without being hunted as criminals or, almost as bad, feted as heroes. The small but pretty pleasure planet of Gabrielle fitted the bill perfectly. Although less than 12 parsecs away from the now-smoking remains of Quajaga, it was of no use or threat to anyone, being too primitive and too far off of the main Kessel smuggling route. Peacekeepers, Scarrans, bounty hunters, assorted criminals and psychopaths – just about anyone and everyone in John and Aeryn's normal circle of acquaintances – rarely gave it a second glance and even more rarely ventured there.

Fortunately for John, the planet was at least nominally space-faring (unlike his own even more primitive and mostly harmless homeworld). Thus he and Aeryn were able to travel there without elaborate cover stories, colourful make-up, false beards or prosthetic noses or forehead ridges, all of which was something of a relief, at least to him. The pretty receptionist at the opulent Hotel Babylon had checked them in to their luxury suite with consummate professionalism and without raising a single one of her eight eyebrows.

Their suite was wonderful. Their living room was as large as their chambers aboard Moya and contained every convenience imaginable, including, John noted with a laugh, a flat, upright machine which claimed to be able to press the creases out of leather trousers. The bedroom was more intimately proportioned, but that did not stop it from hosting a bed large enough for a pair of Pilots to sleep in. Or whatever else it was that Pilots might do in a bed. And the bathroom... John had come running into the bathroom in response to Aeryn's most uncharacteristic squeal of delight from within.

"The shower! The bath!" She exclaimed, clapping her hands together like an excited cadet. John entered the palace of marble and mirrors behind her and snaked his arm around her waist as a prelude to kissing her softly on the lips. "I've never seen anything like it... We have GOT to..." She continued to exclaim. His eyes turned, from his wife back to the room, taking in the more-hot-tub-than-hip-bath and the room-for-a small-get-together shower. It was indeed that rare treasure: a hotel which was even better in real life than in the brochure.

"Yes, we have..." John agreed with a chuckle, grinning in anticipation as he nuzzled at the skin behind her ear.

'~'

Chocolate! John could scarcely believe his luck when the concierge had told him that something resembling chocolate might be available on Gabrielle. It seemed it was only available to discerning customers from a rather publicity-shy source, but the concierge had assured him it was possible to buy it, and from a nearby shop at that. But, of course, concierges at luxury hotels the universe over were renowned for being able to obtain just about anything: Why hadn't he thought of asking one for chocolate before in his five cycles in the UTs? However, apparently the substance had a slightly dubious reputation on Gabrielle – it was regarded as an aphrodisiac, even more so than on Earth, and so it was only available from certain discrete establishments.

Aeryn was spending the afternoon being pampered in the hotel's elaborate and sumptuous relaxation facilities. He imagined she'd be spending an arn or so shooting targets before a session of kicking the dren out of the hotel's fitness instructor. Each to their own, he thought, but it did give him the chance he needed to run a very special errand.

He checked the piece of paper-like substance in his hand. Yes, this was definitely the address the concierge had supplied. Madame Rue Pantoufle, 34 Vine Boulevard. Hopping from foot to foot with excitement, he pressed the buzzer.

"Yes?" a strangely accented female voice answered.

"Is this the place for the erm...?" John furtively looked over his shoulder to check no one was close enough to overhear. Although satisfied he was alone, he still lowered his voice and leaned in to the intercom. "Where I can get... chocolate?"

There was no verbal reply, but a buzz accompanied the door kicking free of the electronic lock securing it. With one last, guilty check on his surroundings, John steeled himself and pushed inside.

The shop's interior was wooden, under-lit and fussy, hinting of many a dark secret lurking in even darker recesses and drawers. A strange, sweet smell, a mix of vanilla and fruit essences hung on the air, invading every breath. The proprietor, a short, rotund, most likely female creature with green skin was obscured beneath a kaftan and installed behind a glass-topped counter. A variety of colourful fancies were displayed beneath.

"What's yer pleasure?" the shopkeeper asked John as he nervously took in his surroundings, allowing his guilty eyes to fall anywhere but on his host. "I hear you want... chocolate?" The question was asked in a deeper register, suffusing the words with sultry promise.

"Err, yeah, erm..." He blushed. "For, umm, my wife."

The proprietor arched a smugly questioning eyebrow.

"What sort does the lucky lady like? What's her favourite colour? Her size?" John thought he caught a billiard-ball eye winking suggestively at him.

"Umm, I don't really know..." John mumbled, feeling more than a little pathetic and embarrassed. He looked at the sweets under the glass counter – it seemed they came in more colours than just chocolate-y brown. "Umm... Maybe, red. Or black. And, err, about so big?" he ventured, measuring out a random distance with his fingers.

The shopkeeper rolled her eyes and sighed. Apparently she was used to such ignorance from her male clientele.

"I know, try this..." she moved as though carefully picking out a confection, before changing her mind and whisking a small box out from further down. She opened it, picked out a chocolate and held it out towards him. Despite the fact that she deliberately held it so that he could take it with his lips, he made a point of taking it from her with his hand. He gave it a brief, quizzical glance and popped it into his mouth. She winked at him.

It reminded John of a chocolate liqueur: The outer layer of chocolate broke and the smooth liquid within began to dribble down his throat. It tasted almost like... well, there seemed to be a hint of inkiness.

"Umm, that's good..." groaned John. A warm glow came over him. He suddenly felt exceptionally friendly. "Real good!" He ogled the shop keeper, trying to make out the ample curves of her figure through her shapeless kaftan.

"Here, try another..." this time John took it from her fingers with his lips, licking her fingers for any trace of chocolate. "Can never have too much of a good thing, that's my motto." John nodded his head in agreement. "Another?" she batted her eyelids coquettishly and placed the third sweet between her lips.

As John closed in to clinch the deal, part of his mind struggled to think why she looked and sounded so familiar. He was sure that he had never met her before. Maybe he just thought she was familiar because she was so damned irresistibly gorgeous?

Their lips met, tongues duelling for possession of the chocolate. It was... like nothing he had ever experienced before. Well, almost nothing – a vague, unpleasant memory, strangely at odds with the bliss he was currently feeling, nagged for his attention, but was soon washed away by the heady oral pleasures assailing him. He felt the uncontrollable urge to stick out his tongue.

"Oh yeah, that's it, fly boy!" His companion sniggered into his mouth. She pulled back, but only in order to come around the counter for a closer clinch. "So, Johnny, see you still ain't maxed out on the whole sex thing, huh?" She remarked as she closed in on her now thoroughly befuddled prey. John drooled and licked his lips, all the while staring intently at her. She batted her eyelids at him. "Oh, we ah gonna be tho happy togethah!" She remarked with a pout and an affected lisp.

'~'

Furlow hustled John through the town towards the spaceport. "That's where my flying love-nest is parked, big boy," she had leeringly confided in him, before raunchily slapping his eema. John, intoxicated by the Heppel chocolates, had tried to reply with a kiss, but she had coquettishly batted him away. "Down, boy. Plenty of time for that later, that's my motto," she had advised him, showing remarkable self control.

Suddenly she grabbed his arm. "Frell, it's that, skinny, flat butted peacekeeper skank. You ain't still hanging around with HER are you?" She asked rhetorically, pulling him into the shelter of a shop doorway. "Best we lay low," she continued, not waiting for a reply from John. As they pushed through the doorway John caught sight of the name of the shop, etched into the frosted glass 'Mushnik's Flower Shop'

"Alright, lover boy, we'll just sit tight in here for a microt," Furlow instructed, nervously backing away from the door, deeper into the shop. John, fascinated to learn what out in the street had caught his new love's eye and caused her such concern, moved to the window beside the door and peered out.

"Oh... yeah...!" A deep, mellifluous male voice crooned appreciatively from within the shop. "Mmm hmmm! That's what I'm talkin' about!" It continued as John began turning his head to find out who the speaker might be.

John saw Furlow standing, transfixed, in the middle of the flower shop, dwarfed by an enormous, animated potted plant. Apart from oversized leaves and fronds, it seemed to mostly comprise one, gargantuan bud. The tip of the bud opened, mouth-like, as though to speak, displaying a row of jagged teeth and a huge pink tongue.

"Hey big woman, you make a bad boy outta me!" the bud seemed to sing to Furlow as it leaned forward towards her. It stopped, its lips a few drenches from Furlow's. "Feed me!" it pouted.

"F... feed you wh... what?" Furlow unadvisedly asked.

The creature threw its giant main bud back and laughed, a deep, musical, terrifying sound. Then, with eye watering speed, the bud darted back down, mouth now wide open. Wide enough to accommodate even Furlow's ample frame ...

The ear-splitting sound of Furlow's terrified scream was abruptly cut off.

John shook his head, as though trying to disperse the memory of the terrible, visceral sound effects which had accompanied Furlow's sudden demise. Slowly, its lips pouting as it sucked at the air, tasting for its next meal, the giant plant turned its gigantic bud towards the hapless human. John pulled his pulse pistol, but a thick, leafy frond landed on Winona, snatched it and tossed it aside. Another frond landed on her and began to drag her further from John's reach.

"Still hungry!" the plant exclaimed, looking straight at John and giving two short sucks at the air. "You look tay...sty!"

"You have GOT to be kidding me," John remarked to no-one in particular.

"Feed me! NOW!" the plant demanded, winding its way closer to John.

"AERYN!" John bellowed in fear and desperation.

A small bell rang, marking the entry of a newcomer through the shop's door. The giant bud swivelled slightly, as though to look at the intruder. John took advantage of the distraction to dive for Winona. But, as his hand fell on her, a series of deafening bangs shook the room and then bits of still-smoking plant began to rain down upon and around him.

John rolled over in time to see Aeryn, standing at the door, a quizzical expression on her face as she decided whether to reholster her pulse pistol. Seemingly satisfied that she had dealt with the immediate threat, she snapped her gun back into place on her thigh and turned her attention to her husband.

"What happened here?" Aeryn enquired, holding out a hand to help John back to his feet.

"Eh? Um, dunno," he replied, trying to clear the Heppel fog from his head and understand what had indeed just happened here.

"Looked like an Ordery plant to me. Frelling dangerous. What sort of frell-wit would keep one of those around the place?" she snapped to herself.

He picked a smoking frond from his lap and tossed it aside. "I love it when you save my ass," he remarked, having no sensible answer to her question.

"Hmph. Is that why you get yourself in trouble so often?" She cracked a lopsided smile.

He smiled back, took her hand and she levered him to his feet and into her arms. Her nose wrinkled in distaste.

"Ugh, Crichton, you STINK!" Aeryn exclaimed, screwing up her face in disgust at the strange odour hanging over him. "You look like dren. You smell like dren."

John pulled a small, red flower from a nearby piece of shelving and, after a microt's consideration, checking it for teeth and other hazards, he held it up to Aeryn. "Umm... love you?" He gave her his best puppy-dog expression.

"C'mon, let's get you back to the hotel and get you into that shower!" She turned him in her arms and then shoved him towards the door, taking the opportunity to land a loud slap on his eema as he went. "It will have to be a long one. You ready for that?" She called after him.

John paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder. Surveying the scene he finally came to an understanding of what had taken place in the last half arn. It was quite a tale that he'd have to tell Aeryn, but not until he'd got his story straight. "Yes! Ma'am!" He called back with an exaggerated salute and a wink. "Standing at attention!"

The end


End file.
